


Return to Cascade

by elaine



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Sentinel Senses, Sentinel/Guide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaine/pseuds/elaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being repatriated from Peru, Jim takes a trip back to Cascade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return to Cascade

  
  
Jim stared out at the grey buildings shrouded in drizzling rain and repressed a sigh of irritation; irritation mostly aimed at himself. What in hell had he been thinking, to come back here? He'd left the city of his birth when he joined the Army and had vowed never to return, never to face his father and brother again. He'd travelled the world, and achieved the rank of captain in the Army Rangers. He had enough money to go pretty much anywhere he wanted, and yet when he'd been granted a week's leave the first thing he'd done, almost without thinking, was to buy an airline ticket to Cascade, Washington.  
  
His fingers, clenched in the curtain, twisted and pulled unconsciously, starting an ominous creaking in the curtain rail.   
  
He forced himself to release the fabric, to step back a pace from the window. Okay, so he'd made a stupid mistake, but that didn't mean he couldn't get something out of the situation. Two blocks away there was a restaurant that ten years ago had served the best Surf and Turf he'd ever eaten. Maybe it was still there. Maybe it was still as good as he remembered. He was hungry; he might as well find out.  
  
Besides, after more than twenty-four hours in this damned hotel room, he was sick of room service, sick of the wallpaper, sick of himself.  
  
With a shrug of his shoulders Jim turned away from the depressing view. Grabbing his leather jacket – still new and stiff, as all his clothes were now – from the closet, he shoved his wallet into his jeans back pocket and slapped a cap onto his head. No use in courting attention even here, he thought, and damned the Army PR guy who'd manipulated him into agreeing to that interview with News magazine.  
  
There was no flicker of recognition in the eyes of the other guests in the elevator and nobody in the lobby seemed to notice him either. Outside it was still early enough for the sidewalks to be fairly crowded. Safe in the anonymity of rush hour, Jim lengthened his stride, suddenly eager for a good meal and a couple of beers.  
  
***  
  
In the hotel lobby, seated unobtrusively in a corner that afforded an excellent view of the entire area, the watcher smiled complacently. It had taken a while but Ellison had finally got tired of sulking in his room. Time, then, to apply pressure. He went over to the courtesy phone and dialled a number, leaning casually against the reception desk. When the call was answered, he passed on his information, concisely, and hung up without waiting for a response. Then he lifted the handset and dialled again.  
  
***  
  
If the meal wasn't quite as good as his memories, it was still a damn fine meal, and the two beers had started a small, pleasant glow in his belly that made it easy to ignore the relentless misting rain. Jim felt almost happy as he strolled back to his hotel.  
  
He should have known better. Distracted, he didn't at first connect the crowd of reporters and TV cameras with himself; until someone turned and pointed in his direction.  
  
Like a tidal wave, they headed towards him, microphones at the ready, yelling questions over the cacophony of other voices. It was enough to make his head explode with pain, and his eyes water in the lights that were aimed in his direction. Before any but the most eager reporters could reach him, Jim turned tail and ran, riding the edge of panic and cursing himself for being so stupid. Never let your guard down. That's what got people killed; he'd learned that lesson in covert ops. Learned it early and learned it well. It was just another sign of how badly off balance he was.  
  
But not so badly off balance that he hadn't mapped out potential escape routes the day he'd arrived at the hotel. It was second nature to do that, and it stood him in good stead now. He knew exactly which alleyway to take that would lead in less than a hundred yards to three different branches. Following any one of these, he could find a cab or a bus that would get him away fast and unobtrusively.  
  
There was a cab approaching as Jim exited the warren, and he hailed it with a quick gesture. Giving the cabbie an address at random – a bar he'd gone to as a teenager, one that had had a relaxed attitude to carding its younger patrons – Jim settled back into the seat, sliding down a bit and ducking his head as they turned onto the street. His hotel was just a block away to his right, but none of the media jackals had come this way.   
  
He relaxed a little trying to ignore the pounding in his head and the way the shirt he wore rasped unpleasantly against his skin. When he'd been living with the Chopec, his enhanced senses had seemed natural and easy. Incacha had helped, but in truth, Jim hadn't needed much guidance. Returning to so-called civilization, as much as he'd wanted it, had sent all his senses into overload and now nothing seemed natural or easy.  
  
During the first few days of his repatriation, he'd tried to explain to the doctors about his senses. It hadn't seemed such a big deal to him, but their reactions had set alarm bells ringing in his mind. When the psych evaluation had labelled him with PTSD, he closed down, trying to suppress the senses, or at least hide them. He'd managed it, to a degree, but it was starting to take a toll on him. Now his senses would sometimes spike unexpectedly or fade out altogether – unpredictable and dangerous – and none of Incacha's remembered advice seemed to help.  
  
The bar, when the cab pulled up outside, looked very different from how Jim remembered it and, seeing the patrons going in and out, he now understood the look the cabbie had thrown him. He tossed some bills to the cabbie and climbed out, glancing up and down the street. There were no other bars close by, so he shrugged and went inside.  
  
As he'd expected, there were no more than a handful of women in there, and they were mostly sitting together, ignoring the men. It made no difference to Jim; as long as nobody identified him as military, a gay bar was as good as any. He made his way to the counter and ordered another beer, wincing a little at the noise, though the bar was hardly crowded. He wouldn't stay long, just enough time to drink his beer and then he'd find somewhere quieter.   
  
Staying at the bar seemed like the best way to stay anonymous, so he leaned against it, sipping the beer cautiously. Sometimes his sense of taste would flare and he didn't want to start a scene by choking. He wondered morosely how long the press would hang around the hotel. They wouldn't give up easily, and they'd assume he'd have to return eventually to pick up his gear.  
  
Over the next ten minutes three different guys approached Jim with hopeful expressions. To each he smiled politely and made his lack of interest plain. After that he was left alone for a while, until a kid – surely not legal – sidled up beside him and smiled with such open friendliness that Jim couldn't help smiling back at him with more warmth than was advisable. Then the kid's eyes went past Jim and widened in surprise and dismay.  
  
That was all it took for Jim's defensive reactions to kick in. He turned his head just enough so he could see where the kid was looking, and cursed under his breath. Reporters, unmistakably, coming through the entrance in a pack. There was no way they could have followed him here. He glared down at the kid who, he realised angrily, must have recognised him. “Did you call them?”  
  
“No! No, man, I swear.” The kid put his hands up, placatingly. “I just wanted to… we need to get out of here.” He tugged on Jim's jacket. “Come on, man. I know a way out the back.”  
  
The reporters hadn't seen him yet. Abandoning the beer and his place at the bar, Jim had no choice but to follow the kid through the bar towards the bathrooms. Damn it, he should have scouted the place out when he'd first arrived; how he could have been so careless? That encounter with the press mob had shaken him, sure, but he'd dealt with far worse situations. It was yet another indication that he was losing it badly; and now he was at the mercy of a kid who could, despite his denials, have brought the press down on him. If that turned out to be the case, he'd wring that scrawny neck with pleasure.  
  
“There's a storeroom in here…” the kid gestured towards the short hallway leading to the bathrooms, “and it opens onto an alley. The deliveries come in that way.”  
  
“It'll be locked, surely.” No need to mention that he could easily open the lock, one way or another. He didn't trust the kid an inch.  
  
“I know where the key is. I work here, sometimes.” The kid grinned, turning his head so fast that the long curly hair swirled out, brushing against Jim's neck.   
  
Damn, he was standing way too close to the kid, too far inside his personal space and he didn't even remember doing it. He didn't move away, though, as the kid fumbled in the dark. He heard a small mutter of relief and then the scratching of a key in the lock. The door opened, and the kid slipped through into the room beyond. Jim followed.  
  
With the door closed again, it was pitch dark and Jim was as blind as any normally sighted person would be. Even  _his_  senses only extended so far. The kid's breathing seemed unnaturally loud and Jim could smell his distress.  
  
“Okay… okay, I can do this…” the breathless mutter wasn't very convincing.  
  
“Problem, Chief?”  
  
“Just… just a little bit claustrophobic, man. I don't want to risk lights, and…” shuffling footsteps moved away, “this would be so much easier with a flashlight. I'm Blair, by the way.”  
  
The abrupt change of topic brought a grin to Jim's face. “I'm guessing you know who I am.”  
  
“Oh yeah. Man, if I'd had any idea you were in Cascade… I so wanted to meet you, and then you just walk in here, like… bam!” Blair's breath hitched and he muttered under his breath as, by the sound of it, he pushed some fairly heavy boxes out of his way. “Naomi would say it's karma.”  
  
“Whatever. Can you get us out of here?” Jim let a hint of the impatience he felt creep into his voice. As soon as he got through that door he'd abandon the kid and find a cheap hotel where he could crash for the night. If pressed, there was nothing in his hotel room he couldn't leave behind, so he could just get the first flight out of here tomorrow morning and flee back to the safety of his base. It wasn't an appealing option, but it was better than facing more questions that he didn't know how to answer.  
  
“Sure. Just a minute, okay?” Blair had reached the door now. Jim heard the scratching of metal against metal again and then the door creaked open, admitting a faint light from the alleyway. The pale blur of Blair's face turned towards him. “Come on, Jim.”  
  
The alley stank. Jim stopped dead in the doorway, clamping his nostrils shut and trying to breathe through his mouth. It didn't help much and he fought the urge to retch. A tug on his arm almost overbalanced him and he leaned heavily against the wall.  
  
“…you okay? Jim?”   
  
He blinked, on the verge of greying out altogether, and tried to straighten up. Instead, he began to list to the side. Blair caught hold of him, sliding a shoulder under his arm. “Lean on me, Jim. I've got you, okay?”  
  
Jim nodded, still trying not to double over. “The smell…”  
  
“It's not that bad, Jim.” Blair stared up at him earnestly. “Are your senses going out of whack?”  
  
What the fuck…? Jim tried to pull away, but had to submit to the indignity of an arm around his waist. His head had started pounding again and his eyes were watering in the dim glow from the streetlight.  
  
“Listen to me, Jim. I can help you, okay?” The earnest voice deepened, softened persuasively. “Just trust me to get us out of here. I've got a car not far away.”  
  
“Okay,” Jim managed to gasp out. Against all the instincts ingrained in him through years of covert ops training, Jim allowed this unknown kid to guide him along the alleyway, away from the streetlight.  
  
They turned a corner at some point, and Jim's balance improved as the smell slowly faded to a bearable level. His eyes now well adjusted to the dark, he could see that there was a busted streetlight at the end of this alley. Perfect for cover. Perfect also for the handful of couples who were making out against the walls. Jim hesitated, unwilling to walk past potential traps, as implausible as they might seem.  
  
Again, Blair tugged at his jacket – a bossy little guy, Jim thought, amused. “It's not far, hurry up, man.”  
  
The crunch of footsteps and a babble of voices came from the mouth of the alley. With a muttered curse, Blair backed up against the wall, pulling Jim up close against him. Instinct took over; Blair was his ally, however unlikely, and Jim followed his lead. A hand on the back of his neck drew his head down and he leaned into Blair, his hand lifting to tangle in the long, dishevelled curls.  
  
Further down the alley, closer to the source of the sounds, voices were raised in angry protest. Jim turned his head slightly to look, but Blair pulled him round again, tugging him down so that his head was between Jim's and the approaching reporters.   
  
“Don't let them see you, man.” Blair's breath puffed warmly against his cheek and ear.  
  
He could feel the heat of Blair's body increase, hear the swoosh of his blood quicken, smell the arousal rolling off him, and Jim felt his body responding in kind. He thought, strangely amused, that whoever Naomi was, she probably wasn't Blair's girlfriend.  
  
The reporters retreated after a while, defeated by the angry response of the men they'd intruded on, and the others who'd come out of the bar to investigate. Jim felt Blair's body relax slightly and then, without any warning Blair kissed him, lips soft and moist against the corner of his mouth. For a moment Jim was tempted to turn his head and claim the kiss. Then his higher brain reminded him of why that would be a very bad idea. He drew back, looking down at his unlikely rescuer.  
  
“I need to find a hotel. Preferably somewhere on the other side of town from here. Can you help me?”  
  
Blair grinned exuberantly. “Jim, I can help you in ways you can't even imagine. But you don't want a hotel. You want a place where you can have some privacy.”  
  
Jim raised a sceptical eyebrow. “And that would be?”  
  
“My place.”  
  
***  
  
So, Ellison had escaped again. Well, no matter. What he wanted right now was to put pressure on Ellison; whether the reporters cornered him or not, the pressure was being applied.  
  
What was more important was to locate Ellison again. The watcher smiled thinly, annoyed by the inconvenience of losing his target. The resources  _he_  could bring to bear vastly outweighed any that either Ellison or the media, had access to. Ellison couldn't hide indefinitely.   
  
And there was a new player. Intriguing, but he doubted the boy was significant.  
  
***  
  
“My place” turned out to be a ratty little apartment on the edge of the warehouse district, whose furnishings consisted of a sofa bed strewn with laundry, tangled sheets and patched blankets, and a worn old armchair piled high with books. Jim looked around the small room with disfavour. It wasn't actually dirty, and not any smellier than he'd expect of any small room that was the sole living area of its occupant.   
  
He looked down at Blair enquiringly and the kid looked at the bed for a moment before shrugging almost imperceptibly. “I'll just… uh… clear some space. Okay?”  
  
“Knock yourself out, kid.” Jim leaned against the wall beside the door. It was the only place where he'd be out of Blair's way.  
  
“I know it doesn't look like much…” Blair's voice was suddenly muffled by a heaping armful of laundry. He looked around, somewhat wildly and then dropped the clothing into a pile between the bed and the wall. “I like living alone and I can't afford anything better. Maybe after I finish my Master's I can get some teaching work. Tutoring doesn't pay much.” He started to straighten out the bedding, his cheeks heating a little. Maybe it was from bending over the bed, but Jim doubted it.  
  
“You're a university student?” He didn't look old enough to have left high school, but Jim guessed he must be at least eighteen to work in the bar. No way could he be studying for a Master's degree.  
  
“Anthropology.” Blair dumped one stack of books onto the floor beside the chair – there really wasn't anywhere else for them to go – and held out his hand with a nervous smile. “Blair Sandburg.”  
  
“Jim Ellison, but you already knew that.” He shook the hand briefly and then Blair turned back to pick up more books. “I suppose you read that damn magazine article.”  
  
“Yeah. My god, when I realised that you were a sentinel…” He disposed of the last few books and gestured to the chair. “Here. It's clean.”  
  
Jim doubted that, but he sat, gingerly, half expecting the decrepit looking armchair to collapse beneath him. Blair perched on the edge of the bed, his knees brushing Jim's, his hands fluttering expressively as he gabbled some nonsense about tribal guardians and genetic throwbacks.  
  
“Hey, whoa there, Darwin. What the hell are you talking about?” Jim caught hold of his wrists, since it seemed like the only way he could shut the kid up. Skinny little wrists he had, though his hands were only slightly smaller than Jim's. “What's a sentinel and what's it got to do with me?”  
  
Confused blue eyes stared into his. Full, pouting lips fell open revealing small, pearly teeth. “You don't know… Jim, you're a sentinel, right? I was sure when I read that article… and in the alley… You have enhanced senses. I  _know_  you do.”  
  
“I didn't say anything in the article about my senses,” Jim objected, realising too late that he'd given himself away pretty comprehensively.  
  
“Not directly, no.” Suddenly, Blair seemed older, more sure of himself. “But, reading between the lines, it was pretty obvious if you know anything about sentinels.”  
  
Frustrated almost to the point of violence, Jim growled. “I  _don't_  know anything about sentinels. I've never  _heard_  of sentinels”  
  
“Oh.” Blair blinked, leaned back a little, then lunged forward, almost startling Jim into a defensive reaction that could have ended very badly for Blair. Oblivious, Blair began hunting through one of the book piles, eventually emerging flushed and triumphant, waving an old book. He pressed it into Jim's hands before sitting back on the edge of the bed. “Here.”  
  
It wasn't very thick, but it looked like it could have been expensive once – bound in leather and with gilded lettering. But the leather and the gilt alike were battered and stained, so maybe it was just an old piece of junk. “The Sentinels of Paraguay.” Jim looked up at Blair. “Means nothing to me, Chief.”  
  
“Okay, so…” Blair ran his fingers through his hair, raking it back off his face before pouncing on an elastic band sitting beside one of his pillows and using it to tie his hair back in a ponytail. It made him look sixteen. “This book? It was written by Sir Richard Burton – he was the nineteenth century explorer, by the way, not the actor – and it's about these tribal guardians. Burton calls them sentinels. It's like… back then every primitive culture had stories about them. They were chosen because they had enhanced senses – like you, Jim – and they would help protect the tribe. And when I saw that article about you? I just  _knew_ , Jim. Holy Grail time! You're a sentinel… a protector, and…”  
  
“And maybe I want to keep that quiet, okay?” Jim's most intimidating scowl seemed not so much to bounce off Blair's armour as to be swallowed up by his oblivious enthusiasm.  
  
“Okay, yeah, sure…” Blair almost vibrated with energy. “Hey, it's a basic tenet of Anthropology – protect the subject. I'm down with that. So, you'll let me study you?”  
  
“Study me?” Incredible. Jim leaned forward until his nose was almost touching Blair's. “Listen, kid, I've got Army doctors eyeing up straightjackets for me. I want you to help me turn this thing off.”  
  
“I can't do that.” Blair blinked at Jim's low growl and put his hands up in a warding off gesture. “No, I mean it. I have no idea how you could do that. I can teach you how to control it, though.”  
  
“Control.” It was better than nothing. If he could turn his senses right down, that would be almost as good as turning them off. “You can teach me that?”  
  
“Yeah, sure I can.” The tip of his tongue slid across Blair's lower lip and Jim knew he was lying. “I mean… I'll need to do some tests, get a feel for what's happening here…”  
  
He probably didn't know anything, and for a moment Jim was tempted to walk out. But this unlikely looking kid was the only person who even knew what was going on with him. He wasn't going to find any better help than this. Jim sighed. “What kind of tests?”  
  
***  
  
A combination of Blairish enthusiasm and Ellisonian determination kept them going until the small casement window began to admit a thin, greyish light. To Jim's surprise, some of Blair's suggestions had helped, at least a little, but now exhaustion was setting in. And that was worrying, of itself. Jim Ellison, Army Ranger, didn't get this tired this easily. How the hell was he supposed to do his job when he couldn't even handle an all-nighter?  
  
“Look, Jim…” Blair rubbed at his eyes and stifled a yawn, “You've been through a lot – leaving the jungle, reacclimating yourself to so-called civilisation. And then there's all the debriefing, reliving the loss of your team. I mean, those doctors didn't understand what was happening with your senses, but they're probably right about the PTSD. You just need to give yourself some time.”  
  
He couldn't tell a civilian – hell, he couldn't tell  _anyone_  – why the sense of urgency was riding him so hard. All he had to go on were vague suspicions and doubts about why that ill fated expedition had failed so catastrophically and those, if they proved to be true and he was stupid enough to tell anyone about them, would either get him cashiered or quietly disposed of in some kind of 'accident'. No, he wasn't going to mention any of that to Blair.  
  
Instead he sighed and dragged his arm across his eyes, trying to relax into Blair's not very comfortable mattress. They'd been trying meditation techniques for the last hour without any noticeable success. After a moment he glanced at Blair from under his forearm. The kid looked bushed too.  
  
“Is there a hotel around here? I'll catch some sleep and then maybe we can meet up later.” Christ, he hated asking. Hated needing help from a kid like Blair – or anyone. “If you want to keep trying, I mean.”  
  
“Why not stay here?” Perched on the edge of the bed beside him, Blair looked absurdly young. His hopeful expression reminded Jim of that furtive little kiss in the alleyway. “I don't mind sharing, if you don't.”  
  
“I don't think so.” Jim moved his arm so he could level a disapproving stare on the kid. “How old are you, anyway?”  
  
“Twenty-two.” Said with a defiant lift of the chin.  
  
Jim didn't so much as twitch a muscle. He fixed his gaze on Blair and waited. Blair stared back. “You expect me to believe that, kid?”  
  
Blair sighed. “No. But it's true and I can prove it.” He rolled onto his hip and dragged a wallet out of his back pocket, flipping it open and extracting a card. “Here.”  
  
It was a driver's licence. The date of birth was 20th March 1969. Jim considered it for a moment. It looked genuine enough and would explain how he'd got a job in a bar.  
  
He looked at Blair again. The kid looked seventeen, eighteen tops.  
  
“C'mon, Jim. How'm I gonna fake a drivers licence?” There was a hint of irritation in the resonant voice. He probably had to prove his age on a regular basis.  
  
Jim flipped the card back to Blair with a flick of his wrist. “Doesn't matter, Junior. If I stay, nothing's going to happen here, you understand? They have rules about this in the military.”  
  
“Stupid rules.” Blair said, heatedly. “That's so  _wrong_ , Jim. Did you know that in ancient Sparta, warriors were  _expected_  to be lovers? They thought it would make them  _more_  committed to the battle, not less.”  
  
“This is America, not Sparta, and I have a career to think of.” He pushed himself up into a sitting position. “I'll see you later.”  
  
“No. It's okay.” Blair grinned impishly, “I promise your virtue's safe with me.”  
  
In spite of himself, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He lay back, patting the mattress invitingly. “In that case…”  
  
He almost had second thoughts when, instead of going around the bed, Blair swarmed over him and collapsed beside him with a soft groan. Surely the kid hadn't needed to brush quite so closely against him. But Blair snuggled down into his pillow, keeping a scant but decent couple of inches distance, and was asleep almost immediately.  
  
***  
  
Jim woke feeling surprisingly relaxed, considering his opinion of the mattress' suitability for sleeping on. He lay with his eyes closed a moment longer, enjoying the tickle of sunlight on his cheek and the quiet sound of Blair's breathing. Maybe, he thought, only slightly grudgingly, the kid's New Age mumbo jumbo had helped after all.  
  
At some point while he'd been sleeping, he must have rolled onto his side – his preferred sleeping position – and the sensation of warmth down his front told him that Blair had also moved closer. He wondered if he'd need to fend off another awkward attempt at seduction when Blair woke.  
  
Better just to avoid the situation, Jim thought, but before he could move away a soft hitch in Blair's breathing told him that the kid was close to waking. He opened his eyes, and was startled to see Blair's face from only a scant few inches distance. The lush mouth was softened in sleep, and his eyelids fluttered restlessly, confirming Jim's assessment that he would awaken soon.  
  
He was still taken aback when the dark lashes lifted suddenly, revealing blue eyes still dazed with sleep. The pupils widened after a moment and Blair smiled, warm and unguarded and still half asleep. It seemed far too easy to lean forward a little and press his lips gently against Blair's.  
  
There was a moment's startled reaction from Blair and then his lips softened, parting. His tongue flickered lightly against Jim's lower lip; not so inexperienced after all, Jim thought dazedly. He forgot everything else as all his senses expanded to capture every tiny detail of Blair's mouth. A soft, helpless sounding moan, half felt, half heard, made Jim's cock harden. He pressed deeper, one hand lifting to tangle in Blair's hair and the springy silken feel of it against his palm added a new layer to the sensations.  
  
He was in danger of losing himself. He knew it, but could hardly bring himself to care; what he had right now was so perfect, so  _necessary_ …   
  
With a groan of mingled frustration and denial, Jim forced himself to pull back, rolling smoothly away from Blair to sit on the edge of the bed. What the hell had just happened here? He knew about the zone out factor. When Blair had described it, he'd recognised immediately that it had happened to him before. But this… this was another magnitude worse than that. He'd known he was close to zoning and he hadn't cared. Worse, he'd embraced the idea of losing himself in his senses so long as they were focused on Blair. He groaned again, dropping his head into his hands. “Jim?” Blair sounded shaken; hardly surprising, Jim thought. “Are you, like, freaking out?”  
  
Oh. The kid was scared. Of him. Jim wondered if he'd gotten himself into trouble like this before. “I'm not going to smack you around, if that's what you mean.”  
  
“No. Of course not.” The response, too fast, too eager, gave the lie to his denial. “What happened, Jim? Were you zoning out on me?”  
  
“Something like that.” Jim tried to pull together scattered thoughts. “Can you just be quiet for a minute?”  
  
“Sure. I'll just…”  
  
He felt Blair move away, the mattress dipping with his weight and then footsteps padding to the door. The bathroom was down the hall.  
  
Relieved to be alone, Jim stood and paced along the narrow space beside the bed, careful not to trip over the books piled helter-skelter along the wall. Despite Blair's fears, it wasn't homophobia that had freaked Jim out. He'd been attracted to men before, though never strongly enough to do anything about it – not even with Alan, who he suspected would have been willing enough if Jim had made the first move.  
  
Sure, it surprised him that he  _did_  want to do something about it with Blair, who was definitely not his usual type, but that wasn't it either. It was the intensity of his reaction to Blair, the way his senses had fixated on the kid like a pit bull grabbing its prey. Instead of being part of the solution, Blair had now become part of the problem.  
  
He had to get away, that much was clear, and he'd run out of places to hide.  
  
When Blair came back, Jim had shrugged on his leather jacket and stuffed the cap into his pocket. He held out his hotel key card and a twenty dollar bill. “I have to get away from here. Can you get my gear from the hotel and meet me at the airport?”  
  
“But, Jim…” Blair's protest faded as Jim pushed the card and money into his hand and brushed past him. “I thought you wanted…”  
  
He went out into the hallway and kept walking. Otherwise, he'd never be able to resist the kid. Either Blair would bring his gear to the airport or he wouldn't. Whatever happened, he was leaving.  
  
***  
  
So Ellison was running back to the safety of Fort Benning. The watcher wasn't particularly surprised or perturbed. He had plenty of connections within the camp; it would be easy to keep tabs on his target. He was curious though – what had happened overnight? Where had Ellison been? Since he'd left the gay bar – and that  _had_  been a surprise – Ellison had disappeared, only surfacing again when he'd used his credit card to change his ticket at the airport.  
  
Now Ellison was standing near the entrance to the airport, eyes scanning the crowd. Waiting for someone, or just routine surveillance? The answer came soon enough when the young man from last night arrived with a small backpack, which he handed to Ellison. The kid was standing well inside Ellison's personal space, but Ellison didn't appear to mind. He even laid a hand on the boy's arm and leaned down to speak quietly to him. Definitely unexpected.   
  
The watcher shrugged; it didn't matter to him whether Ellison was a fag or not but the information could be useful. Oliver might be interested, if he wanted to force Ellison out of the Army. He watched as the pair parted company, the kid walking away with several longing backward looks. Ellison didn't turn around until the last moment as the kid exited through the glass doors, and when he did his face was unreadable.  
  
Interesting.  
  
***  
  
The sun was shining when Jim returned to Cascade six weeks later. With his final pay check in his bank account, he had plenty of funds for the moment and he wasn't inclined to think too much about what he was going to do with his life now. Of course there were a few necessities – find a place to live, and find Blair Sandburg.  
  
The second wasn't at all difficult. Blair had told him enough in that one night to make him easy to track down. And so, here he was on the campus at Rainier University, waiting for Blair's class to finish. Which would be any second now. He crossed the road, carefully avoiding the visual trap of a red Frisbee some of the kids were throwing around, and headed for the stairway into Hargrove Hall.  
  
He'd barely reached the bottom step when he heard Blair's voice, calling his name. The kid came bounding down the stairway hair flying, a denim bag slung over his shoulder, beaming from ear to ear. “Man, I never expected to see you here. What's happening? Are you on leave again? How's your sens…”  
  
“Can we talk somewhere?” Jim indicated the throng of students flowing around them with a tilt of his head. “Somewhere quiet?”  
  
Oh… yeah, sure.” Blair was practically vibrating with energy. “There's an Ethiopian café just…”  
  
Jim caught his arm as he raised it to point somewhere over to his left. “Somewhere quiet where there's food I can actually eat.”  
  
“Okay.” Blair thought a moment, his brow wrinkling. “Uh… hot dog stand? There's one just over there in the park.”  
  
“That's more like it.” Jim patted his shoulder approvingly. “It's on me.”  
  
“Gee, thanks, Jim.” There was a tiny pause and then the enthusiasm was back. “So what's hap…”  
  
“Sandburg.” He could smell the hot dogs now, and Jim quickened his pace a little, feeling hungry for the first time in weeks.  
  
But, once they had their hot dogs, there was no denying the bright expectation on Blair's face. “I've resigned my commission.” Saying it now suddenly didn't feel as bad as it had previously. “I couldn't keep things under control. Your exercises helped, but not enough. And besides…” he bit off another chunk and chewed it thoughtfully, then shrugged, “it just wasn't… I haven't been feeling the… the commitment to being in the Army any more.”  
  
Blair nodded sagely, though he'd probably never committed to anything in his life. No, that was unfair. He'd finished one degree and had almost completed a graduate degree. That took some commitment, especially since – Jim had done some checking into his background too – the kid had started college when he was just sixteen.  
  
“Anyway, I decided to come back here. I was hoping… I mean, I was wondering if you could… you know, help me out a bit? In your spare time.” I could pay, he nearly added, but decided to hold off on that. He wanted to take this slowly, see how the kid panned out. He'd only known him for a few hours, after all.  
  
Blair's eyes were gleaming. “Yeah! I'd love to, man!” He faked a punch at Jim's shoulder. “Maybe… maybe if I can find some other sentinels, I could do my doctoral thesis on sentinels.”  
  
“Now, hold on there. I just had a bunch of Army psychologists telling me I might be schizophrenic. The last thing I need is more people trying to lock me away.” Seeing the kid deflate, Jim levelled his voice a little. “Look, I've got a couple of places lined up… somewhere to live. And I was hoping you could, you know, have a look at them. Tell me if there's anything you think might set off my senses?”  
  
“Sure, sure.” Blair nodded thoughtfully. “When do you want to… oh… now? Yeah, I can do that.” He tossed his crumpled napkin into a trash can and hitched his bag over his shoulder. “Where are we going?”  
  
If Jim had had any doubts about Blair's usefulness, they were quickly banished when they got to the first apartment. Blair rejected it before they'd even gone inside.  
  
“I thought being across the road from a park would be a good…” Jim protested feebly.  
  
“Man, are you crazy?” Blair threw him a look that made him feel like a particularly stupid grade schooler. He marked his objections off on his fingers. “Fertilisers, insecticides, herbicides… unless they use organics – which I know they don't – you'd be a mess every time the parks department sprayed here. Believe me, Jim, this place is no good for you. What's next?”  
  
At the next two places, Blair made copious notes but didn't seem enthusiastic about either. Then, at the fourth, his eyes lit up in a way Jim had already begun to recognise as soon as they opened the door.  
  
“Yeah…” he turned his bright face up to Jim, “this is  _perfect_ , man.”  
  
It was a nice place all right, if not exactly what he'd expected from the description of 'a spacious loft apartment'. “It's a bit short on walls. Be hard to heat in winter.”  
  
“The space will be good for you.” Blair toed his shoes off and padded over to the French doors. “Great view of the harbour. You'll like that.”  
  
He would? Jim refrained from commenting. “What's the bathroom like?”  
  
Blair rolled his eyes as Jim checked out the facilities. The bathroom was adequate, the kitchen better, tucked into a corner of the large downstairs area. There was plenty of daylight, thanks to the French doors and the huge fanlights in the roof. The main bedroom was upstairs and open to the rest of the apartment.  
  
“No privacy,” Jim grumbled as Blair reached him. But secretly, he liked the ability to look down over the rest of the apartment.  
  
“Jim, you're gonna be living here on your own.” Blair nudged him with an elbow. “You'll have all the privacy you need. Or you could sleep in the room downstairs.”  
  
He grunted and headed back down the stairs to check out the room. Not too bad a size, though he wouldn't want to sleep there. Was it too soon… he glanced down at Blair fidgeting beside him and the kid must have picked up on something because he studied Jim's face curiously but didn't speak.  
  
Jim sighed. Time to take a chance, he thought, and if it didn't work out… well, he'd have to deal with the consequences as they happened. “I was thinking… I mean, wondering… you know, it would help with my senses if you were…”  
  
Blair blinked. “Jim? Are you…” his eyes widened, “oh my god, you  _are_ , aren't you? Asking me to move in here?”  
  
“You wouldn't have to pay rent,” Jim offered cautiously. This was going too damned fast, but it was already too late to back out. “Call it quid pro quo for helping me…”  
  
“Yes!” Blair bounced on his toes, grinning manically. “Yes, I'll do it.” He turned and looked around the loft. “When can we move in?”  
  
“As soon as I arrange the payment.” Jim swallowed his doubts as best he could. It was what he wanted, and Blair had already earned his keep; this place felt right in a way none of the others had. “A couple days.”  
  
“Cool.” Blair followed him out into the main room. “I've just got a few boxes. Most of the books are from the library. We'll need furniture.”  
  
“Sure. A couch, armchairs, dining table…”  
  
“Bed.” There was a hint of challenge in Blair's voice. His eyes were steady on Jim's face.  
  
“Ah…” he actually took a step back. “Blair…”  
  
“You're not in the Army now, Jim.” The words were innocuous enough, if he ignored the glimmer of heat in Blair's eyes.  
  
“I'm not…” there was something at his back, solid and hard edged. Oh yeah, that post. “I don't…” but somehow he was leaning forward a little, a slight inclination of his upper body towards Blair. “Blair, I…”  
  
And Blair was smiling, rising on his toes a little, tilting up his face invitingly, and it was really only a small distance between them now; ridiculously easy to bridge that gap.  
  
At the last moment Jim closed his eyes so that at first he was only aware of the feel of Blair's lips, soft and moist against his own. Instinctively, he pressed forward, meeting just enough resistance to deepen the kiss. Blair's lips parted and now taste was added to touch, flaring wildly out of control for a second. God, this was incredible, overwhelming… his tongue slid between Blair's lips, searching hungrily, sensation piled on sensation, until he was in danger of being trapped in one of those sensory whiteouts.  
  
But, almost immediately, Blair saved him; his mouth opening under Jim's, his tongue boldly probing against Jim's lips. Without even thinking Jim opened to him, allowing Blair to take control, jolted out of the incipient zone by Blair's enthusiastic response. He sank his fingers into Blair's riotous curls and leaned into the kiss, learning the shape and textures of Blair's mouth, his taste.  
  
When Blair pulled his mouth away, Jim actually groaned. Then Blair's lips slid along his jaw and down his throat, nibbling and sucking, definitely hard enough to leave his mark, and wow, if that didn't make Jim's cock swell urgently. Blair felt it, of course; there wasn't a millimetre of space between their bodies. He gasped and pressed closer against Jim, answering hardness against Jim's thigh, while his fingers got busy with Jim's shirt buttons.  
  
“Wait. Hold on.” Jim pushed him away a little, then grabbed the front of his loose shirt and pulled it, and all the layers beneath, over Blair's head. Underneath those clothes was a trim, surprisingly sturdy body, the chest liberally sprinkled with dark, soft hair. He slid his fingers over Blair's chest, closing his eyes in delight at the sensation.  
  
“Oh man… I am  _so_  with you…” Blair's voice was low and rough, “just let me…” His fingers scrabbled urgently for a moment, and then he was shoving Jim's shirt off his shoulders, pulling his undershirt up and over Jim's head. “Oh, yeah…” He nuzzled the hollow of Jim's shoulder and rubbed his nipples with the pad of his thumb.  
  
All the strength fled from Jim's muscles. He leaned back against the post, holding onto Blair's wide shoulders for support; his legs were actually trembling. He was weak with the sensation of Blair's lips against his skin, and his hands… oh, his hands, wrestling with the fastening of Jim's jeans, getting them open and then sliding inside. Oh, fuck…  
  
He could hear an indistinct muttering from the region of his shoulder. Words, tumbling incoherent and raw from Blair's throat; he tuned out the meaning and just listened to the sounds, felt the hand on his cock, and the taste of arousal in the air.  
  
Sudden loss of contact made Jim choke out a wordless protest, the feel of it keen as a blade to the gut. He opened his eyes, as a slither of movement passed down his body, to find his jeans halfway down his thighs and Blair on his knees, contemplating the length of his cock. He glanced up, his eyes asking the question.  
  
“God, yes…” Jim forced the words out through tight lips and tighter throat. His guts were in a knot just thinking about it. “Do it.”  
  
Blair favoured him with a smug grin before leaning forward – he didn't need to lean very far – and delicately lapping at the swollen, sensitive head. Jim's knees almost buckled; he grabbed hold of the post behind him with both hands and locked his knees together.  
  
Sandburg was actually pretty good at this. Jim revised his previous opinion of the kid's experience, then revised it again when Blair took him balls deep for a moment, before sliding back and doing some truly amazing manoeuvres with his tongue. Ten seconds in, it was already the best blowjob Jim had had in his entire life. His head thunked back against the post and he concentrated on keeping still so Blair could continue doing what ever the hell it was he was doing. Blair helped with one hand on his hip; the other rubbed restlessly up and down his thigh.  
  
Try as he might to divide his attention between Blair's mouth on his cock and Blair's hand on his thigh, Jim knew he was failing. He wouldn't be able to hold on for long, and part of him didn't want to. If this felt incredible, he couldn't imagine what it would be like to feel himself come between Blair's pliant lips. His cock surged on the thought and his balls tightened. Blair groaned, the vibration stripping him of all self-control. He thought he said something, some kind of warning, but Blair only pursed his lips and flicked the underside of Jim's cock with his tongue. And then it was too late for anything more.  
  
Jim emerged from what felt like a zone to the sensation of a warm, damp, hairy body pressed against his and the tickle of long hair against his throat. Blair; his face buried against Jim's shoulders and his hips rutting against Jim's thigh. He hadn't even bothered to unfasten his jeans; or maybe he just wasn't sure how Jim would react to a bare cock. For that matter, Jim wasn't so sure how he would have felt five minutes ago, but now it seemed like a damned fine idea.  
  
He eased Blair's hips back a little, and Blair stopped dead, shivering a little but otherwise obediently still. “Got a bit too much in the way here, Chief.”  
  
Blair smiled against his skin. “Yeah. Maybe.”  
  
“No maybe about it.” He got the buttons open and shoved everything down before catching hold of Blair's ass and urging him closer. He scrunched down a bit so Blair's cock nestled in the crease of his groin, leaving a warm, wet trail of precome.   
  
Blair sighed happily and began to rub slowly, luxuriously against Jim. “Feels so good, Jim… so good…”  
  
“Yeah, it does.” Jim angled his head, nudging against Blair's temple with his chin until Blair turned his face up. The kiss was a delicious accompaniment to Blair's movements, long and satisfying. He ran his hands lightly over Blair's back, but they kept returning to Blair's ass, moulding against the flexing muscles, squeezing, kneading. He'd never been an ass man, but there was something compelling about the sensation.  
  
Blair shuddered and groaned, squirming against him. He widened his stance and Jim's fingers brushed lightly along the cleft. Blair moaned and squirmed some more – nothing equivocal about that response, Jim thought, and his heart started to pound. He was more than okay with rubbing off against each other, or even reciprocating Blair's blowjob. But this? He wasn't going to do anything to Blair that he couldn't at least offer to try himself, and he was far from sure he'd be willing to left Blair fuck him. Not yet, anyway.   
  
But the rest of his body had a mind of its own. Almost before he realised, his fingers had dipped down between Blair's ass cheeks and he was delicately circling the hole with one fingertip.   
  
Blair almost convulsed against him, his cock jerking violently. “God,  _yes_!” he hissed. “ _Please_ …”  
  
This was probably going to become a habit, Jim realised. Blair saying something in  _that_  tone and him helpless to refuse. He probed gingerly, only enough to get his fingertip past the ring of muscle, but that was all Blair needed. With a long wail of “Jiii-iimmm…” Blair thrust desperately, once, twice, and then came all over Jim's belly. He slumped bonelessly against Jim, breathing hard.  
  
The wetness between them was… unpleasant, but not the warm weight of Blair's body. Jim waited patiently until Blair stirred, tilting his head back to smile dazedly up at him. “Wow.”  
  
“Yeah.” Jim kissed his lips, savouring the taste. Incredibly, his cock was tingling with renewed interest.  
  
“Guess we'd better get outa here.” Blair tried half-heartedly to escape, but subsided immediately when Jim didn't release him.  
  
“I don't need to get the keys back for,” he checked his watch, “another hour. What do you say we check out the flooring?”  
  
Blair turned his head, considering the pile of shirts on the floor beside them. With the addition of two pairs of jeans it still wouldn't be comfortable, Jim knew, but he didn't think that was going to put Blair off.  
  
Sure enough, Blair looked up at him, smiling. “Flooring's important, right?”  
  
***  
  
So the sentinel had found a guide. The signs were unmistakeable.   
  
That was… annoying. If he'd known that Sandburg was going to get in his way, he would have removed him without hesitation or the slightest remorse, but it was too late now. He didn't know of any way that a sentinel could be induced to form a new bond when the original one was broken.  
  
He would have been prepared to provide whatever services Ellison needed to function as a sentinel, though he would never have been able to supply the same enthusiasm that Sandburg brought to the task. Perhaps it was for the best.  
  
Lee Brackett lowered his binoculars. There was nothing more he could do right now. He'd have to put Ellison on the back burner and see how he developed under Sandburg's guidance. He'd revisit the situation in a few years, when Ellison – and Sandburg – would be ripe for his picking.  
  



End file.
